


Quite the Nice Profile

by newbie93



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Criminal Profiler AU, F/M, Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine, Kinda, The FitzSimmons Network
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 19:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6021937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newbie93/pseuds/newbie93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons' daily lunches with one Leopold Fitz involve eating nutritionally balanced meals and using her above average deduction skills to beat him in their frequent game of, "what's their story?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quite the Nice Profile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SuburbanSun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/gifts).



> Written for the always sublime SuburbanSun/UnbreakableJemmaSimmons for the FitzSimmons Secret Valentine exchange.

The park is blissfully silent when Jemma arrives, lunch carefully tucked under her arm as she balances the two cups of tea and Popular Science in her hands, and she grins at the sight of her favorite bench sitting completely unoccupied beneath a looming maple tree. She loves these days, where she arrives first, because it means she gets the opportunity to scope out the few people who _are_ in the park and get started on her analyses before _he_ arrives. 

The couple on the bench opposite her is easy. 

There’s approximately two feet of space between them and the woman is slowly eating her sandwich, face devoid of any emotion as the man beside her prattles on about something that Jemma can’t quite hear. The woman is thinking of the best way to break up with him, psyching herself up because she’s been painfully dumped before and promised herself that she’d never make someone else feel as awful as she had. She’ll _try_ to go through with it when there’s a lull in conversation but, ultimately, won’t be able to. She’ll save it for another day when the timing feels a bit more right. 

_Next.  
_

The man sitting a few benches down has his entire body angled away from the hot dog cart, eyes trying to focus on the book in his hands but shifting every few seconds to the side as though he hopes that _this time_ he might catch sight of one of the rotating sausages. The empty salad container beside him seems to not have been enough to satiate his cravings but he’s trying to avoid the food cart because… he’s on a diet. 

Jemma gives it seven and a half minutes before he shuts his book and buys himself a Bratwurst. 

_Next._

The young man by the fountain is _marginally_ more difficult to figure out, his constant checking of his watch means he’s waiting for someone and the continuous fidgeting means he’s _nervous_ about whomever it is he’s waiting for. This leads Jemma to think of the most likely options: A: He’s waiting on a girl he fancies (the clothing and worn pages of the Playboy peeking out of his knapsack rule out the possibility of him fancying a man). The checking of the watch would indicate his belief that she might stand him up and the fidgeting _could_ be reflective of said belief… but it’s not quite the _right_ kind of fidgeting so Jemma moves on to the more likely option. 

Being that he’s planning to _exchange_ something with whomever he’s waiting for. The habitual checking of the time means he already paid some portion of funds for whatever it is he’s waiting on. The fidgeting makes it pretty clear that this is the first time he’s been in this position. 

Jemma cocks her head pensively as she peers at him, taking note of each twitch and nervous shift of the head, before she decides that this is a drug drop-off. For a moment she’d thought that the boy might be paying someone for homework, the large, red, D, on the paper behind the Playboy could easily mean he might want someone else to do the work for him, but the insignia on his sweatshirt belongs to a private school in the area. A private school that’s notorious for brushing academic discrepancies under the rug without so much as suspending the miscreants, meaning he has no need to worry about getting caught buying essays. 

But _drugs_ are illegal and the _police_ won’t turn a blind eye if they catch him buying them. Hence the fidgeting and now sweating. 

_Perhaps she should give him a bit of friendly advi…  
_

“Simmons!”

Jemma whips her head away from the boy at the sound of the somewhat out of breath Scottish voice calling her name and grins as she spots Fitz making his way down the path in her direction. He gives her a jovial wave of the hand that causes a small burst of laughter to escape her and she bites her lip as he hastily shoves his hand back in his pocket at the sound. She can see from here that his face is a bit redder than usual and deduces that, for whatever odd reason, he’s a bit embarrassed by his choice of greeting. 

She figures that the best thing to do is alleviate said embarrassment with a wave of her own, so Jemma raises her free hand and wiggles her fingers in Fitz’s direction. The bashful smile he shoots her when he catches sight of the gesture has Jemma ducking her head in an attempt to hide her own blush. After another few feet, he finally plops down beside her on the bench, carefully avoiding the food she’s lain out in the middle, and shoots her a grateful smile when she wordlessly hands him the tea she’d gotten for him. 

“Sorry I’m late, got a bit caught up in the lab, you know how it is.” 

Jemma feels a small pang of guilt at the statement, humming in agreement rather than taking Fitz’s obvious opening and expanding on _how_ she _knows how it is._ She technically _does_ know, having spent much of her formative years in various laboratories, but through some form of miscommunication, Fitz has somehow come to think that she _currently_ works in a lab. 

Initially it hadn’t seemed harmful to let him _continue_ thinking such a thing, in fact it had been rather pleasant discussing all things science with someone who can actually keep up with her, but recently her occupation has become a bit of a sore subject for her. 

She doesn’t like lying to him, even though she’s really just not providing all the details more than anything, and is becoming increasingly cognizant of _why_ half-truths are much harder to dole out where Fitz is concerned. She’s blushed and laughed more during the past few weeks of lunches than she has in most of her life and she’d be foolish not to note that the only new variable is Fitz. 

She doesn’t realize how lost in her thoughts she’s become until the man in question nudges her gently, quirking his brow and looking as though he’s on the cusp of asking if she’s alright. Jemma shoots him a quick smile, making it as genuine as possible, before snatching an apple from her bag and biting into it with an audible crunch. 

He looks at her for another long moment, as if he’s trying to work out whether or not her silence should be questioned, before giving her a small smile that causes the proverbial butterflies to once again erupt in Jemma’s stomach and biting into his own sandwich. 

They eat in contented silence for a minute, both munching away on their respective lunches until Fitz nudges her again, customary smile affixed to his face, and says, “So… what’s their deal?” 

Jemma can barely understand him over the mouthful of food that he’s talking around, but the head nod in the direction of the pair across from them makes it relatively clear that the game has begun. 

She pretends that she’s observing them for the first time, tilting her head speculatively as she bites into her apple, before turning to Fitz with a small shrug and saying, “Couple. Soon to be _former_ couple if she has the courage to go through with it. Which she _doesn’t._ At least not today… though she will try.” 

They’re silent for a few minutes, watching the pair across from them until the woman straightens her shoulders and turns to her partner, mouth opening before immediately snapping shut as her shoulders drop again and she shifts her gaze back to her food. Jemma gives Fitz a small nudge at the display, coupled with the smirk that she’s grown accustomed to adorning while playing this game with him, and feels her smile widen as he rolls his eyes and begins grumbling under his breath. 

She smiles around her sandwich as she bites into it and waits patiently for Fitz to choose from the only other people currently in the park. She covertly examines him as he thinks, looking at him in her peripheral vision and secretly thinking that it’s far more fun examining _his_ rather fetching profile than _profiling_ anyone else. That being said, he has a million tells and she takes another bite of her sandwich as she waits for Fitz to ask her about diet man. 

Not a minute later, he’s turning to her with a raised brow and doing a spectacularly hilarious job of talking out of the corner of his mouth. “And what about him?” 

Jemma chooses _not_ to look up this time, instead casually sipping on her tea as she keeps her eyes on her sandwich. She takes another large bite before waving her hand dismissively and saying, with as much nonchalance as she can muster, “He’s going to be purchasing a sausage in approximately… eleven seconds.” 

She hears the snort of derisive laughter and turns to face Fitz with a challenging brow as she counts, “Nine, eight, seven…” He meets her expression with a grin and shifts his own gaze to the stranger as she continues. “Six, five, four, three, two…” 

Jemma cackles in delight when the man in question throws his book down on the bench with a bit more aggression than is strictly necessary and strides over to the hot dog cart as Fitz splutters in incredulity. His head moves between her and the food stand, where the stranger is now happily biting into his second lunch, before he throws his hands up in exasperation and fixes her gaze on her. “How the _bloody_ hell could you _possibly_ have known that?!?” 

She chuffs out a laugh at that, always pleased when she riles Fitz up to the point where even his ears turn red, and gives him a smirk as she says, “I’ve told you time and time again _Leo_ , I’m good at reading people.” 

His eyes narrow at the use of his first name and Jemma bites her lip in amusement as she watches him try to come up with a retort. She can almost _see_ the thoughts as they play out on his face and doesn’t have to wait more than a second before Fitz is leaning closer to her and muttering, “There’s a difference between _reading people_ and predicting the bloody future _Jemma_. Your stories are usually pretty good but that was…” 

Jemma’s eyes narrow at that and she stares at him in indignation, voice lowering dangerously as she questions, “What do you mean my _stories?_!” 

“Oh c’mon Simmons! Half of the stuff you say is spot on but the other half is stuff we couldn’t _possibly_ confirm without chatting up a bunch of strangers and learning their life story.” 

She lets out an indignant huff at that, glowering at him over her paper cup before straightening up and defending herself. “Well it’s certainly not _my_ fault that there’s no easier way to prove that I’m right!” 

Jemma expects him to come back with some sort of snarky retort, as is custom when they begin to bicker, and is wholly unprepared when Fitz just looks at her contemplatively as he nods along to her words. She’s even _less_ prepared when she notices a faint flush on his cheeks when he meets her eyes again and says, “Well… maybe there is. I actually… I have a proposition for you.” 

“Oh really? Please, propose away.” 

Her cheeks immediately flush as her brain processes what she’s just said, and she’s about to fumble out an awkward explanation of how she didn’t mean for him to _propose,_ propose, but Fitz mercifully just grins at her in amusement and waves her off before she can embarrass herself any further. 

“Well, the way I see it, you’re certainly good at this _game_ but… I mean, neither of us actually know if you’re _accurate_ with your astute guessing, do we?” 

_I should hope that I’m accurate considering the government is currently paying me for said astute guessing.  
_

“Mmmmm. Continue.” 

“So… well I was thinking maybe we could find a way to see how good you _really_ are.” 

_This_ intrigues her and Fitz must be able to see the challenging glint in her eyes because his slight trepidation turns into an eager excitement as he turns on the bench to face her fully. 

“See, a mate of mine owns a bar a few blocks over and I was thinking maybe we could get a drink sometime.” 

She waits for him to continue, not wanting to get her hopes up too much, but when he _doesn’t_ she furrows her brows slightly and tilts her head in confusion, uncertain as to how getting drinks could possibly prove that her _guessing_ is far more spot on than Fitz might believe. 

“You… want to get a drink with me?” 

Fitz’s eyes widen at her question and Jemma can almost _see_ him mentally replaying the past minute and realizing that he’d never actually finished his proposition. He quickly begins moving his hands and shaking his head as he says, “I mean… I didn’t mean like… _get a drink…_ I meant… I know most of the regulars! At the bar! So I thought… we could go to the bar and you could use your _debatable_ powers of observation to see if you’re as good as you say you are. You can analyze and guess, and I’ll be able to tell you if you’re right or wrong.” 

Jemma allows the small flicker of disappointment at his adamant assurance that he doesn’t want to _get a drink_ with her consume her for only two seconds before focusing on the challenge and looking at Fitz with a raised brow. “Let me get this straight. You want to take me to a bar that your friend owns, and your _other_ friends frequent, so that you can point to them in succession and have me study them from afar?” 

“Yes precisely. Or, I mean, not from afar if that’s preferable. We’ll just pop from one to another, you’ll do your thing, and I’ll gleefully tell you when you’re off the mark. I need to know if you’re vocalized observations have any merit or if you’re just astonishingly good at making up detailed tales at a moment’s notice.” 

_Definitely not the latter.  
_

Jemma hums thoughtfully before taking another bite of her sandwich and quirking her head to make it seem as though she’s considering Fitz’s proposition. She’d known instantly that _of course_ she would go along with it, too stubborn to refuse a good challenge and too hopelessly interested in Fitz to decline an opportunity to spend more time with him, but _he_ certainly doesn’t need to know that. 

So she takes her time visibly pondering the challenge before turning to an expectant Fitz and crossing her arms slightly. “What does the winner get?” 

She fights a smile at the sight of Fitz blinking slowly at her, cheeks reddening slightly as he processes her words. “Oh! I hadn’t… I hadn’t really thought about it.” 

By their third shared lunch together, Jemma had realized that teasing Fitz is one of her favorite things to do, so she eagerly jumps at the opportunity. “ _Honestly_ Fitz! What fun is a challenge between two literal geniuses if there’s no incentive to _win?_ ” 

“Perhaps the incentive to win is _knowing you’ve won._ ” 

“Tosh. As appealing as making a fool of you in front of all of your friends may be, we need something else to make spending an _entire_ evening with you worthwhile." 

Thankfully her teasing comes across because Fitz releases a small chuckle before playfully nudging her again and rolling his eyes in exasperation. 

“Okay, I see how it is Simmons. Well, seeing as making a fool out of _you_ in front of all my friends is good enough for _me,_ how about you come up with the terms of the FitzSimmons showdown?” 

Jemma feels her heartbeat quicken at the ease with which Fitz whips out the portmanteau and has to consciously remind herself _not_ to grin like an idiot at the sound of their names mashed together. Instead, she gives a small nod of the head and contemplates for a moment before deciding on the most generic bet that could possibly exist where this challenge is concerned. 

“Hmm… loser picks up the bar tab _and_ is responsible for providing the next week of lunches.” 

Fitz tilts his head for a moment before shrugging and holding out his hand with a, “Deal.” Jemma doesn’t hesitate to take it, shaking it once with a mischievous, “Game on,” before returning to her food and spending the remainder of her lunch break discussing the latest _Popular Science_ with Fitz. 

Unfortunately, as is always the case, Jemma gets so lost in the bickering and exchanging of ideas that she doesn’t realize how the time has flown until Fitz is tossing his scraps into a nearby garbage can and standing with an exaggerated groan. 

“C’mon, I’ll walk you out.” 

Jemma gives him a grateful smile, throwing the remainder of her own lunch away and moving to Fitz’s side as he begins walking towards the park entrance. She makes it a few feet before remembering the boy _still_ waiting by the fountain and quickly squeezes Fitz’s arm to get his attention long enough to say, “Hang on one second.” 

He gives her a concerned look as she begins to move away, asking, “You okay?” in a low tone that once again causes Jemma’s stomach to become a proverbial breeding ground for a swarm of butterflies. She gives him a small smile, waving off his concern and assuring him with a, “Yeah, I’ll be right back. I just have to quickly tell that boy that his life will likely be better if he leaves before the drug dealer he’s waiting for arrives.” 

She’s already walking towards the young boy and has to tamper her grin when she hears an incredulous _“What?!”_ behind her.

 

-O-

 

When Jemma returns to her office, Daisy is lounging casually on the small couch in the corner, perking up with a grin when she walks in and plops down at her desk. She can practically feel her friend’s gaze boring into her and mentally counts down in her head, already aware that Daisy won’t last long before inevitably launching into her teasing questioning. 

“How was your lunch date?” 

Jemma tears her eyes away from the login screen on her computer long enough to shoot her friend a look and emphatically say, “It _wasn’t_ a date _,_ ” before returning her eyes to the monitor so she can avoid watching Daisy roll _hers._

Because she _knows_ that Daisy’s dramatic sigh is likely coupled with a full 360 degree rotation of her eyes, simply because they’ve had this conversation enough times for Jemma to know what each of her friend’s reactions will be. 

“ _Fine._ How was the daily meal that you share with a guy you’ve been crushing on for _over_ a month? Is that a more accurate way of phrasing the question?” 

Jemma doesn’t respond but it doesn’t matter much because, evidently, her silence and the blooming blush on her cheeks is answer enough to warrant Daisy bursting into laughter. Eventually the chuckles die down, due large in part to the fact that Jemma throws an eraser at Daisy’s head that causes the laughter to transform into indignant squawking, but Jemma knows that just because the _laughter_ has stopped, doesn’t mean her friend’s teasing will. 

Sure enough, after approximately twenty-seven seconds of silence, Daisy’s voice rings clear in the office once again. “Still playing your weird guessing game?” 

“Yes.” 

Jemma’s response is terse, short and succinct with the intent of stopping Daisy before she really starts. 

“Did you win again?” 

_No luck._

“Yes.” 

It’s silent for a long moment and Jemma exhales a small sigh of relief when it seems as though Daisy has asked her fill of questions for the day. She types another paragraph in the report of her latest session from the case they’ve been working on before her brief moment of 

“Have you told him you’re not actually a biochemist yet?” 

_This_ causes Jemma to tear her eyes away from the report she’s typing, shooting Daisy an affronted look that she hopes conveys just how insulted she is by the accusation. “I most certainly _am_ a biochemist Daisy. And I have the PhD’s to prove it.” 

The eye roll that she’s met with causes another brief flicker of irritation to erupt in Jemma and she crosses her arms in annoyance as she watches Daisy shift up on the couch to face her fully. 

“Right… but the PhD that’s currently getting you _paid_ is the Psychology one that you, and I quote, ‘Got for fun on a whim.’” 

There’s not really much that Jemma can say to this, no rebuttal on hand since, _technically,_ nothing Daisy has said is untrue… which makes it all the more irksome. 

“Do you think he’d keep playing if he knew that your job _literally_ revolves around looking at people and using that big ol’ brain of yours to figure out their life story in a few seconds?” 

Jemma stays silent once again, not at a loss for words so much as consciously not wishing to respond. Daisy is giving her a knowing look, quirked eyebrow and all, and Jemma refocuses her attention to the screen in front of her so as to avoid her friend’s gaze. There’s nothing quite as irritating as having someone in your life serve as a tangible conscience, voicing all of the doubts and less than ideal facts that you yourself are trying to bury deep in a box, and it’s even _worse_ when said person is _also_ an inescapable friend and coworker. Jemma is quiet for another moment as she ruminates Daisy’s comment, and compares it to her own guilt over the tiny, _miniscule_ really, bit of information that she’s yet to reveal to Fitz. 

“No, probably not.” 

“Which is why you haven’t told him yet. You don’t want to give him a reason to stop having non-date lunch dates with you. That’s adorable.” 

Jemma blinks in surprise before looking up and being met with the sight of a beaming Daisy. “That’s not…” 

She’s mercifully interrupted by a knock on the door but her moment of gratitude is fleeting when she spots who it is that’s leaning in the doorway. She lets out a low groan, thunking her head on the table as Bobbi plops down on the couch beside Daisy. 

“ _Wow._ What a greeting _that_ was. Thanks Jem.” 

“Don’t mind her Bob, Jemma just knows that I’m going to tell you that she’s got a massive lady boner for this guy she’s been meeting in the park for lunch for the past six weeks.” 

Jemma lifts her head and squawks out an appalled, “ _Daisy,_ ” in synchrony with Bobbi’s intrigued, “Ooh, is he hot?” and she finds herself flushing for the tenth time today when her mind immediately shouts an emphatic _YES._

Before she even realizes it, she’s actually _answering_ the question with a stuttered, “He… has quite a nice profile… and is very well-formed and symmetrical. Take that how you will.”

“ _I’ll_ take it as, you wanting to strip him of the cardigans he probably wears and ravish him every time you see him.” Daisy gives her a toothy grin after this before turning to Bobbi whose smile is _nearly_ as wide when she says, “And _I’ll_ take that clinical assessment of mystery man’s aesthetics as your way of deflecting and downplaying the fact that you think he’s a nerdy Adonis that you want to, borrowing from Daisy, _ravish_ on sight.” 

Unfortunately, there are no more erasers on her desk to throw at her friends, so Jemma has to settle for glaring at them while frantically trying to think of a way to refute their _completely_ true statements. She can’t really think of anything and winds up grasping for straws and primly asking, “And just _what_ makes you think he’s a cardigan-wearing nerd?" 

The question causes both women to burst into laughter, all but collapsing atop each other on the couch as they giggle over Jemma’s affronted question, which really only serves to make her _more_ affronted. She turns back to her computer with a huff and petulantly ignores their pleas to, “give them details,” until they take their cue and move to get up from the couch. For one reason or another, the movement causes the simmering panic in Jemma to rise and she stands quickly, immediately getting their attention. 

The two women blink in surprise as Jemma wrings her hands and tries to think of the least embarrassing way to ask them for help before turning to share a look and sinking back to the couch in synchrony. 

“He asked me out…” The twin expressions of delight on her friends’ faces cause her to blush and Jemma hastily tacks on, “…sort of. Not really,” before they can get _too_ excited and subsequently make _her_ more excited for something that Fitz had already made clear is _not_ a date. 

Bobbi turns to Daisy once again at this, raising a brow and wordlessly communicating with the other woman before nodding once and returning her gaze to Jemma. “Tell us everything. We can help.” 

So Jemma informs Bobbi of what Daisy already knows, that she and Fitz had met at the park nearly two months ago by coincidence and had quickly realized that they were reading the very same issue of _Popular Science._ The magazine served as the perfect icebreaker and they had quickly realized that good taste in reading material wasn’t the only similarity they shared. Since that first lunch, they had met every workday to eat and exchange ideas and old stories. During one lunch in particular, where Jemma rather impressively informed Fitz that the man sitting alone on the bench across from them would soon be proposing, her prowess for profiling was revealed. Fitz had looked on gobsmacked when, not ten minutes later, the man was on one knee and requesting the hand of marriage of the teary woman who had joined him. Since then, a decent portion of each lunch hour was spent with Fitz pointing to anyone in sight and demanding that Jemma utilize her powers of deduction to amuse him and reveal each of their stories. 

She explains that this daily game of theirs has been taken up a notch and that Fitz had asked her to accompany him to get a drink and use her deduction in a place familiar to him and _unfamiliar_ to her. Jemma studiously ignores Bobbi and Daisy when they share a grin at her mention of meeting Fitz for drinks later in the week, and instead powers through, ending with a, “…and he still has no idea that I don’t actually work in a lab anymore and… and I _really_ like him. I don’t know what to do.” 

Jemma takes a shaky breath as she looks between her friends, biting her lip in nervousness as she awaits _any_ type of response. As it turns out, she doesn’t actually have to wait too long, because in the next moment Daisy is off the couch and tugging her back towards it. She’s sandwiched between Bobbi and Daisy, who share a look over her before simultaneously saying, “I have an idea.”

 

-O-

 

When she arrives at Franny’s Saloon on Friday evening, Jemma sends a quick text to Bobbi to inform her of the irony before glancing around the packed pub in search of Fitz. The nervous butterflies are beating against her stomach and Jemma tries to focus on the advice Bobbi had given her while doing her best _not_ to focus on Daisy’s. The latter suggested that the best way to reveal her job to Fitz would involve doing it naked, a surefire way to ensure that he can’t actually stay mad at her, and while a _sliver_ of the advice was intriguing to her, Jemma’s not entirely certain that an overcrowded bar is really the place for it. Bobbi’s advice to just be honest, though mostly unhelpful at stemming her nerves, was sound enough to at least allow Jemma to _entertain_ the idea. 

Her eyes flicker across the bar now and she does a double take when she spots a hand waving over the heads of some rather gargantuan men and follows the arm until she spots the body it’s attached to. Fitz has a large smile on his face that only widens when she finally makes eye contact with him. He moves to come meet her at the door but Jemma casts one look around the crowded room and realizes that, if Fitz gets up from the corner booth he’d somehow managed to snag, it’ll be snapped up before he even takes a step. She motions for him to stay put, pleased when he actually seems to understand her hand gesture, and weaves her way through the crowd before plopping down across from Fitz with a grin. 

“Blimey it’s cold out!” 

The words are barely out of her mouth before Fitz is handing her the cardigan that Daisy had rightly assumed he’d wear in earnest and motioning for the lone waitress in the bar in an attempt to pry her attention away from the table of fraternity brothers. “Let’s get you a drink then! Nothing warms me up quite like a nice pint. And then the games shall begin!” 

Jemma gives a full laugh at this, hoping that throwing her head back in amusement might prevent Fitz from seeing the flaming blush that erupted on her cheeks the moment she’d shrugged into the sweater that he’d so nonchalantly offered her. By some miracle the waitress appears at their table a few moments later with a warm smile, taking their order and departing with a promise to return in a few minutes with their drinks. 

The moment she’s out of earshot, Fitz leans forward over the table with a mischievous smile that makes it all too clear to Jemma that he’s decided _Callie_ will be her first target of the night. The following, “Okay Simmons, you have until Cal returns to the table to accurately figure out something _other_ than the fact that she’s a waitress at a bar,” only further confirms her assumption. 

The challenging glint in his eye sparks something in Jemma and she doesn’t hesitate to shift her attention to the waitress that is now weaving her way back to the table of collegiate with a few pitchers of beer in her hand. Jemma watches as the other woman adjusts her top just before reaching the table, emphasizing her rather impressive assets while pasting on a picture-perfect smile that seems to enrapture the men at the booth. One of them says something that causes a round of laughter and Jemma can tell instantly that Callie’s is feigned. She _also_ notices that when the girl says something in response, laughing genuinely at her own joke, the men stare at her in confusion. There’s an awkward beat where Callie looks at them almost expectantly before she flips her hair and waves her hand dismissively, saying something else that causes the men to laugh once more. 

Jemma doesn’t miss the eye roll that Callie gives as she turns around and walks away from the group. Nor does she miss the rather hefty pile of science journals that the bartender flaps in Callie’s face when she moves to grab more drinks. _Nor_ does she miss the way the waitress skims through one, jotting notes in the margins with the pencil tucked behind her ear, while waiting for the drink orders to be filled. 

_Interesting.  
_

Jemma comes to a conclusion pretty quickly and turns to Fitz with a grin as she spots their waitress coming back, drinks in hand. When she knows the other woman is in earshot, she leans forward as though she’s been talking to Fitz the entire time and says, “…I’m sure Callie understands.” She turns to the woman in question as she places their drinks on the table and speaks to her directly. “Isn’t it terribly draining being the smartest one in the room? I find there to be nothing worse than having a true moment of wit that goes wholly unappreciated simply because your audience doesn’t understand.” 

She can see the smile slide off Fitz’s face in her peripheral vision as Callie nods at her vigorously in agreement. “Ugh, _tell me_ about it _._ _Especially_ at a place like this that’s close enough to the university to bring in the losers I have to deal with every day.” 

“Yes I’m sure it’s even more irritating dealing with peers who are still working towards an undergrad when you’ve already got one and are _well_ on your way to getting your… PhD?” 

She hopes that Callie can’t quite decipher the slightly questioning tone she uses on _PhD._ It’s a wild guess on her part, it’s more than possible that Callie is aiming for an MD or any other grad school degree, but the science journals made Jemma decide to go with her gut. When Callie looks at her in confusion Jemma curses silently, assuming that she’d guessed wrong until the waitress’ gaze flits over to Fitz and her confusion morphs into understanding. 

“Oh did Fitz tell you that?” 

_He most certainly did not.  
_

Jemma takes a small sip of her drink as she meets Fitz’s borderline glare across the table and shrugs slightly as she returns her attention to Callie and says, “I have a few myself and he mentioned in passing that you were working on one.” _  
_

“Oh cool! Yeah I’m just finishing up my dissertation now so… wish me luck!” 

Jemma lets out a laugh at that before giving Callie a warm smile and mockingly chastising her. “Callie we are _scientists._ There’s no such thing as luck and, even if there were, I’m quite certain you wouldn’t need it.” 

The answering smile she receives, along with a promise to bring them a plate of nachos on the house, _almost_ makes Jemma happier than the narrowed eyes that Fitz directs towards her as she sips innocently on her beer before smugly saying, “One for one.”

“Oh _please_ Simmons. As if _anyone_ couldn’t have spotted the science journals with the way Hunter was flapping them around for all to see! That was too easy.” 

She rolls her eyes on instinct at his attempt to make her seem less impressive than she _definitely_ is, sipping from her beer before saying. “Whatever you say Fitz. Who’s next?” 

Rather than glance around the room and select someone from the throng of the crowd, Fitz just extends a finger towards her and pulls out his phone, typing quickly before placing it on the table and folding his hands as he beams at her with a smile that simultaneously makes her blush _and_ makes her slightly nervous. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Jemma growing more and more confused with each passing second, and she’s _just_ about to open her mouth to ask Fitz what the hell he’s planning when a bearded man with an easy grin slides into the booth beside her. 

She _should_ be startled, or at the very least slightly wary of the new addition to the booth, but his unwavering smile puts her at ease immediately and within a second she knows that cracking this one will be just as easy as the last. A smile like the one on this stranger’s face, so warm and natural, is the smile of someone who has spent the entirety of their life surrounded by an effortless love and an endless amount of support. There’s nothing forced about this man, an honesty radiating from him that makes it clear that the affableness radiating off of him is genuine. 

“ _You_ must be Simmons.” 

Jemma matches the man’s smile before leaning forward and saying, “And _you_ must have a large family and a great relationship with your mother.” 

The man blinks at her in surprise before throwing his head back in laughter and glancing across the table with the easy grin that seems to be his standard. “Man, Fitz you’re screwed.” He turns back to her, eyes alight with amusement, and extends his fist with a, “Call me Trip.” 

Jemma stares at his hand for a moment before giving it a small pat and turning to face with the most winning smile she can muster. It seems to do the trick because he slouches down in the booth, crossing his arms petulantly, and she can _barely_ hear the, “Unbe _lievable,_ ” that he mutters under his breath. 

“C’mon man, quit pouting. You’ve told me she’s a genius a million times, you can’t be _that_ surprised that she’s proving it.” 

Jemma drops her mouth in slight surprise at Trip’s words and feels her heart begin to quicken at the realization that Fitz _talks_ about her, _to other people._ She wonders momentarily what he would think if he knew what she’s talked to Daisy and Bobbi about, namely his _physical_ profile, but the thought dissipates when she notices the crimson color of his cheeks. He’s evidently embarrassed by the _miniscule_ bit of information that Trip has revealed and, though tonight is essentially _meant_ for them to show each other up, Jemma makes a point _not_ to mention it aloud, instead turning back to Trip and asking, “So, how do you and Fitz know each other? Coworkers? Roommates?” 

Trip opens his mouth to respond but before he can, a distinctly _Scottish_ voice pipes up and says, “Figure it out Ms. Genius.” 

Jemma turns back to Fitz and feels her breath catch at his new proximity. He’s leaning on the table, face halfway across it, and staring at her with a challenging smile that makes _her_ cheeks grow just as pink as his had been mere seconds ago. 

_How did he get his pasty complexion back so quickly?!  
_

Once she’s managed to get _some_ semblance of control over herself, Jemma mirrors Fitz’s position and leans across the table to meet him halfway. “I was only asking to be _polite._ I’m fairly certain SciTech doesn’t really have a need for people who _paint_ all the time, i.e. you’re not coworkers. While I’m sure Trip is _certainly_ intelligent in his own right, I very much doubt you _both_ graduated uni at seventeen so you’re not old classmates either. Meaning you either live _together_ or are neighbors. Either way, I have to give him credit for willingly living in such proximity to you. I’ve seen you eat Fitz and you are a complete and utter slob.” 

At this point Trip is collapsed on the booth, laughing so hard that Jemma swears she sees a few tears escape from beneath his shut eyelids, and she can’t help but grin at the sight. Fitz on the other hand is most decidedly _not_ laughing, but Jemma can see that he’s struggling not to as his mouth curves upward before he seems to consciously fix it back into a neutral line. 

He’d likely continue pouting were it not for Callie arriving with a mountain of nachos for the table and another round of drinks for each of them. Fitz is reaching for a crisp before the food even touches the table and Jemma is quick to follow, plucking the least cheesy one and raising it in mock toast as she says, “Two for two,” before popping the crisp into her mouth with a smile. 

The smile widens at Fitz’s eye roll before transforming into a beam at the thumbs up that Trip gives her under the table where the Scottish grump can’t see. 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get cocky now. Third time’s the charm.” 

“And when will this third time occur?” 

“Ugh, Simmons, there’s food to eat! We’ll finish our game later.”

 

-O-

 

As it turns out, the game goes completely forgotten for the remainder of the evening. 

Jemma gets as many embarrassing Fitz-related stories out of Trip as she can while the Scot attempts to refute them all. Within ten minutes, Jemma is covertly texting Daisy beneath the table and informing her of the fact that she’s found the _perfect_ guy for her in Trip. His easy confidence matches her best friend’s and his seemingly endless positivity and innate compassion would be good for Daisy who, despite her outward bravado, still oftentimes feels the insecurities that come with her lonely childhood. 

They’d do well together and Jemma can’t help but internally laugh at the fact that now she’s working on _romantic_ profiling as well. 

Eventually, the party of three becomes a party of two when Trip claims exhaustion (the paint on his arms is from the result of his work as a primary school teacher) and leaves Fitz and Jemma alone once again. They spend _hours_ simply talking about anything and everything under the sun and Jemma marvels, not for the first time, at how effortless things seem to be with Fitz. She doesn’t need to dumb herself down, doesn’t need to worry about coming across as overtly odd, and can talk about all of the things that nobody in her life quite understands. 

She can be _herself_ and the realization is one that makes her want to prolong this night for as long as she can. 

When she spots a larger party scanning the room in search of a place to sit, she only needs to nod in their direction and make eye contact with Fitz for him to understand her silent suggestion and offer the group their table. They wave off the group’s gratitude before moving awkwardly through the dwindling crowd and coming to a standstill in the middle of the bar.

Jemma bites her lip in contemplation, too unhappy about the idea of having to suggest parting ways but still wholly uncertain as to whether or not Fitz actually _wants_ to extend the evening. Despite their similarities and the ease at which she can understand him, over the course of their friendship, Jemma has found that he’s simultaneously the most difficult person to get a read on in certain situations. 

Luckily for her, it turns out she doesn’t actually _need_ to try and figure out what he’s thinking because in the next second Fitz is turning to her with a bashful expression and saying, “I umm… I don’t know if you wanted to leave now but, there are some stools at the bar if… if you might want to stay a little while longer.” 

Jemma feels a blush cover her cheeks but doesn’t care in the slightest, giving Fitz a beaming smile and nodding her head. The smile only grows at the matching one that spreads across Fitz’s own face, and becomes entirely too toothy when he grabs her hand and tugs her behind him in the direction of the bar. 

She’d be disappointed at his dropping of her hand were it not for the fact that he’s tugging a stool out for her, giving her another bashful smile when she moves to sit down. Jemma feels her heart begin to pound wildly as his chest presses into her back when he pushes the stool an inch closer to the bar and is overcome with a feeling of giddiness as she observes him scooting his _own_ stool closer to _her._

“Hunter! Two more pints when you get a chance.” 

The bartender nods at Fitz’s request and the sound of his name reminds Jemma of the game that she’d already technically won. She glances at Fitz out of the corner of her eye, biting her lip to fight her grin as she contemplates whether or not she should _really_ mess with him and get him to accept her skills. When Hunter ambles over and begins grabbing empty glasses, that settles it for Jemma and she nonchalantly pops a peanut into her mouth as she inquires, “How long have you been divorced Hunter?” 

He seems wholly unfazed by her question (a far cry from the gaping fish that Fitz has suddenly transformed into), giving an overdramatic sigh as he pours her a pint and says, “Too long yet not long enough darling.” 

Fitz snorts in laughter at that as Jemma gives Hunter a charming smile, nodding gratefully when he puts the beer in front of her. She takes a long sip of it, tilting her head and briefly meeting Fitz’s eyes with a smirk before returning her gaze to Hunter and saying, “Perhaps dating your ex-wife isn’t a good way to go about getting over the relationship.” 

The bartender lets out a bark of laughter before winking lasciviously and saying, “Who says I _want_ to get over it? It’s all part of the fun, love.” 

He gives her another wink at that before moving to tend to a marginally intoxicated man at the other end of the bar. Jemma sips her beer slowly, waiting for the sound of the indecipherable spluttering coming from beside her to inevitably transform into the cacophony of… 

“How in the _hell_ did you know _…_ ”

Fitz can’t even finish his sentence before Jemma is giggling at his red face, squeezing his forearm affectionately and deciding to pull him from his state of stunned incredulity. “His ex-wife slash current girlfriend is a co-worker of mine. She has a picture of them on her desk and I’ve heard _more_ than enough stories about their relationship to last a lifetime. I’m actually surprised Hunter and I haven’t met _before_ tonight.” 

Jemma peers over at Hunter, trying to compare her brief interaction with him to the _numerous_ tales that Bobbi had regaled her with and decides that perhaps her friend’s stories weren’t quite as far-fetched as she’d initially thought. She lets out a small laugh when Hunter’s attempt at doing a trick with a bottle of Guinness results in said bottle crashing to the ground and turns to Fitz to point it out when she notices the expression on her face. 

Her laughter tapers off at the look of confusion and she blinks at him slightly when his eyes don’t stray from her face. “What?” 

His brow furrows at her question, eyes flitting to the pint in front of him, and Jemma wonders what has suddenly gotten him in such an odd state. He blinks and tilts his head slightly in contemplation before returning his gaze to her and slowly saying, “You said coworker.” 

Jemma blinks at the statement, nodding just as slowly as Fitz had spoken as she says, “Mmmhmm. Her office is next to mine,” and waiting silently as she watches Fitz straighten his shoulders and look at her with slightly narrowed eyes. 

“But _Bobbi_ works for the FBI.” 

_Shit.  
_

Jemma feels her face pale as she puts two and two together and reaches for her beer so as to buy herself some time before confirming the conclusion that Fitz has reached. Unfortunately, she only buys herself a few seconds and when she places the pint back on the sticky bar top, Fitz is still staring at her with accusing eyes. She opens her mouth a few times to explain before letting out a dejected little moan and letting the guilt she’s been holding onto be reflected in her expression. 

Apparently her silence and visible guilt is enough for Fitz to throw his hands up with a huff and say, “I thought you were a scientist? I thought you worked in a lab! I thought we had science in common!” 

The fear she’d had about revealing her occupation to Fitz comes rushing back at his small outburst and Jemma finds herself desperate to assure him that she’s all of the things that he’d thought, and _wanted,_ her to be. 

“I _am_ a scientist, I _did_ work in a lab, and we _do_ have science in common! I’m a biochemist, really truly, and did forensics for quite some time at the bureau... But then a position opened up that my boss needed filled quickly and he knew I was _technically_ qualified so he asked that I step in temporarily but three years and two hefty pay raises later, I’m still here.” 

She gives a defeated shrug at the end, coupled with a hopeless look that she aims at Fitz, and internally prays that this revelation won’t ruin whatever relationship they have. She watches as he process everything she’s said and shrinks in on herself when he narrows his eyes once again and stares at her with dawning comprehension. 

“What do you _currently_ do for a living Jemma?” 

She looks at him for a moment, suddenly feeling as though this moment and the next few seconds will determine whether or not she gets to keep Fitz in her life, before letting out a defeated sight and focusing on her hands where they fiddle atop the bar. 

“I’macriminalprofiler.” 

Her words blend together and she’s not surprised when she sees Fitz shake his head in confusion and say, “What?” 

She takes a deep breath, fiddling with her hands atop the bar and purposefully avoiding Fitz’s gaze so she won’t have to see his reaction to her words. “I’m… I work for the FBI as a… as a criminal profiler.” 

The silence that she’s met with is a bit unsettling and Jemma only manages to last a few seconds before she’s turning to face Fitz. His mouth is gaping open and he’s staring blankly at her, so Jemma gives him a tentative smile in the hopes that it might spark _any_ sort of reaction. As is often the case, she’s more successful than perhaps the average individual, because in the next moment Fitz is leaning back and yelping, “ _What_?!” 

Jemma winces slightly at the pitch of the shriek and feels herself shrink in on herself at the even more astonished expression that he’s now wearing. She hunches her shoulders, eyes flickering between him and the bar as she fiddles with a coaster, and rather meekly says, “Did… did I never mention my third PhD in psychology and human behavior?”

“No you did _not._ If you _had_ I bloody well wouldn’t have been stupid enough to challenge you to a game that involves _profiling_ people!” 

The burst of laughter that escapes him startles Jemma and she looks on in shock as Fitz snatches his own beer from the counter with a grin and a small shake of the head. He downs the remainder of his pint rather impressively and Jemma looks on as he continues shaking his head, random chuckles escaping him every few seconds, and murmuring a string of words that she can’t quite make out.

What she _can_ make out is the, “Not that that’s even really the reason I asked you here,” that Fitz mumbles into the new pint that Hunter had brought without a word. 

Jemma feels her heart begin to hammer in her chest as her mind runs through all the possibilities of what Fitz could have meant by his statement and, more importantly, what the _real_ reason he asked her here could be. 

“What?” Her voice comes out in a whisper that she herself can barely hear over the noises of the bar, but she knows Fitz hears it as well when she sees him stiffen on his stool. He turns to look at her, mouth opening and closing a few times before ultimately snapping shut and leaving him silent. Normally, Jemma would likely use her expertise to realize that the man in front of her doesn’t necessarily wish to discuss the topic further, but this is _not_ a case, Fitz is _not_ a subject she’s meant to profile, and Jemma _really_ wants to know what he’d meant. So instead of turning back to her drink and changing the subject, Jemma leans closer to Fitz and asks, “Why _did_ you ask me here then?” 

Fitz’s cheeks redden at her question and he ducks his head so as to avoid eye contact as he responds. “Well I… I just wanted to… but I didn’t think you _would_ … so I figured if I challenged you, you might… and then I thought if it went well and you saw that we could get on at _all_ hours rather than just noon to one you’d consider…” 

“Fitz.” 

He stops talking abruptly and Jemma desperately hopes that her observation skills and general intellect haven’t failed her now, haven’t made her hear things in between the fragmented sentences that she’s simply _wanted_ to hear. She thinks all this in the three seconds it takes to shift on the stool, lean forward, and press her lips gently against Fitz’s. 

Mercifully, it seems as though she’s once again put the pieces together correctly because Fitz eagerly presses back against her within a second of her lips meeting his. The kiss is slow and languid, the culmination of _weeks_ of lunches and growing closer, and Jemma finds that she doesn’t mind in the slightest. It’s an easy ebb and flow, much like their conversations usually are, and when they finally pull away Jemma is the only good kind of breathless. 

Fitz seems just as impacted by the recent progression of their relationship because Jemma nearly counts to ten before his eyelids flutter open and the azure irises she’s grown to love peer back at her. He looks a bit shell-shocked when his eyes finally lose the glassy quality and focus on her and Jemma wavers between grinning like a loon and nervously twirling her hair. 

While she is entirely happy with the recent turn of events, and _thinks_ that Fitz might be as well, there’s still an anxious fluttering in her stomach as she waits for him to make any indication of his current state of mind. She watches his mouth drop open a few times, somewhat transfixed by his lips now that she knows how they feel pressed against hers, and feels her own widen when, instead of saying anything, Fitz shifts slightly, picking up his beer and chugging it before slamming the empty glass back on the bartop. 

The visual causes Jemma’s heart to sink because the only thing Fitz could _possibly_ think he needs liquid courage for is informing her that he has absolutely _zero_ interest in pursuing any sort of romantic relationship with her. She tries to think of the best way to apologize for her forwardness and assure him that _of course_ they can still be friends without breaking down into tears. 

She takes a deep breath and glances back at him before opening her mouth to begin making it easier for Fitz to let her down easy when he suddenly turns back towards her, nervous expression on his face, and grabs her hands with her own. 

_Here we go._

“Hey Jemma? Seeing as you _technically_ won the bet, but I can barely put a sandwich together and can’t _cook_ for myself, let alone someone _else_ … would… that is… do you think… would you like to go _out_ for lunch this week? With me?” 

It takes her a moment to process his words, running them over in her mind to see if there’s any possibility that she’s misinterpreting them, but when she finally realizes what he’s asked, an ear-splitting grin makes it’s way across Jemma’s face and her head is nodding more rapidly than she ever remembers it moving before. 

A delighted laugh escapes her mouth at the sight of Fitz almost collapsing with relief over her response and she gives him a moment to beam back at her before she’s moving forward again and capturing his mouth with her own once more. He still tastes faintly of nachos, and the beer he’d just chugged is almost overpowering her senses, but there’s an underlying sweetness that Jemma already knows she’ll likely grow addicted to. 

When they finally break apart, Fitz’s eyes once again take an extra few seconds to open and, when they do, Jemma once again feels her heartbeat quicken at the sight. The slow smile that works its way across his face is likely identical to the one presently fixed to _her_ face. She can’t help but lean forward again and place a few chaste kisses to his lips, giggling slightly when she meets teeth instead of flesh, Fitz’s toothy grin nearly taking up the entirety of his face. 

She looks at him for a few moments before ducking her head and reaching to twine her hand through his. “I profiled you, that first day in the park.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

Jemma glances up at the forced nonchalance in his voice and grins at the nervous expression on his face. She supposes it _would_ be a bit disconcerting to have someone reveal that they’d profiled _her,_ but Fitz has nothing to worry about and Jemma decides to clarify as much. She tightens her grip on his hand and ducks her head again as she coyly says, “Yeah. It only took a few seconds for me to realize you’d be the most interesting person I’d ever meet if I could pluck up the courage to sit next to you.” 

The admission is marginally more revealing of her own thoughts than perhaps she had initially intended and Jemma keeps her eyes focused on the patterns she’s drawing on the back of Fitz’s hand with her finger as she awaits for any type of response. It’s silent for a few minutes and, just when she assumes that the revelation will be glazed over, Fitz lets out a contemplative hum and says, “Funny.” 

Jemma looks up at him, noting the way his head is tilted as though he’s studying her, and narrows her eyes slightly when he makes no move to continue. “What?” 

“I may not be a profiler… but I knew the same thing about you the second I saw you come ‘round the fountain.” 

The statement and smile that Fitz pairs with it causes a pleasant warmth to make its way throughout Jemma’s body and she bites her lip to once again fight the grin that always seems to make itself present around Fitz. “Yeah?” 

Fitz nods his head eagerly, angling himself closer to her and meeting her eyes as he says, “Yeah. Thought I was gonna puke that first day. Had no idea what to say to you. Thank god you _did_ have the guts to start chatting because I sure as hell didn’t.” 

“And _now_ look at you. Talking my ear off every lunch.” 

Jemma presses a chaste kiss to Fitz’s cheek and lets out a giggle at the annoyed huff that he lets out. “Oh yes, _I’m_ the talker of the two of us. Please Simmons.” He shifts slightly with a roll of the eyes, facing forward and pretending to watch the _American_ football game on the telly above the bar. Jemma knows that Fitz can barely suffer through _actual_ football and lets out another laugh at his clear avoidance tactic, knowing full well that he’ll likely only be able to pretend interest in the idiotic sport for so long.

She takes his silence as an opportunity to focus on him, take in all of the small details that she’d only allowed herself fleeting glimpses of before. The slow smile that makes its way across her face is one that she suddenly feels the need to share, as are the thoughts running through her head, so she props her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her hand as she murmurs, “Hey Fitz?” 

He turns to face her with a smile of his own, his feigned irritation gone the instant his eyes meet hers, and raises a brow in question. “Yeah?” 

Jemma leans forward again, pressing another kiss to his cheek before shifting her lips to the shell of his ear.

“ _Your_ profile? It really is quite nice.” 


End file.
